Tag Archives: University of Rhode Island

Back Into Teaching Writing

The schedule for a new student as his writing tutor is on the calendar. I’m excited to begin working with this young man, collaborating to help him become a better, more self-assured writer.

My passion for writing and teaching was ignited as a returned undergraduate at the University of Rhode Island; encouraged to read, write, and explore the magic of words by a beloved teacher Professor Nancy Potter. For two semesters Nancy animated the writings of William Faulkner in ways that brought the Southern storytelling tradition to life – visceral, tangible, palpable. I was hooked.

After earning my MFA from the Graduate Writing Program at Brown University, I was certified to teach at the college level. Once four of my poems were published in four literary journals, that affirmation verified I’d made the correct choice to go into writing instead of law.

Fast forward a few years – my resume was in the right place at the right time and I began my teaching career at the Community College of Rhode Island (CCRI) and Bryant University (then Bryant College). Again, I was hooked.

I relished the challenge of inspiring undergraduates to become better, more committed and excited writers and thinkers. Seeing the lights in their eyes, that “Ah-ha moment” when something clicked and they got it. It was contagious. If they learned as much about writing as I learned about teaching I did my job.

As a long-time independent, freelance writer, collaborting with clients was, again, a teaching situation – asking questions, clarifying intentions, focusing in on desired audiences, creating strategic articles, press releases, and all. I still love the process of communicating and creating.

It’s a joy to come back into teaching the challenges, process, and rewards of writing with this young man. I hope he’s as excitied as I am. Time will tell.

Reach out if I can help you become a better writer. My calendar has openings – either face-to-face or virtual via Zoom or Skype.

#AskJessan

Reconfiguring

Since May 21, 1996, I’ve marketed myself as an independent, freelance writer/editor, collaborating with some amazing clients. To them, as always and again, many thanks for trusting me.

It’s true, from time to time, I did my own work. Not enough, however.

After twenty-seven (27) years it’s time to reconfigure.

Going forward I’ll be focusing more on my work that has laid dormant or ignored too long.

This is my path. Not to walk it is unconscionable.

#DanceOn…

“Tell her your story. She will listen.”

People have told me their stories since I was a girl. I listened.

Over time, doing walking errands in the city, complete strangers would stop me and begin to tell something they wanted me to know. I listened as long as I could before I had to contine on my way.

Eventually, I began to believe there was an invisible (to me), neon light on my forehead that flashed erratically announcing: “Tell her your story. She will listen.”

Thing is: folks have been telling their stories to each other for millions of years. In a cave. Around a fire. Most likely to indicate where food could be found – an important imperative; or, what areas to avoid because of imminent danger. Perhaps, eventually, expressing more abstract sentiments, like respect or hate or love.

It’s important to share our stories with each other – our universal, human common denominators. To bear witness and to tell about our joys, losses, failures, challenges, successes; and, even a ridiculous recounting.

Sometimes, when you share a deep, long-silent experience, memory, or desire with another person, it can change you and your listener. The burden of your story is brought out and into the light, no longer tucked away in a dark place. It takes courage. You trust you’re telling someone who will not judge, who will understand and empathsize. In the telling and the listening a weight is given up and a recognition that “Ah ha, I know what you’re talking about, I’ve had the same experience, too!”

By telling, you can, also, share a story in a way that reveals just how silly we can be, making complete nincompoops of ourselves (often in public) that elicits a similar, response: “Me, too!” Laughter is a healing thing.

Imagine, if you will, for just a moment, that you’re sitting around an open fire, with millions of stars dancing in the blue-black night sky. What story do you want to tell?

All We Are Are Our Stories

All We Are Are Our Stories

When you look at a person,...

I’ve been told that the first human sound I ever heard was, most likely, laughter; as my mother looked over the drape, surrounded by a bevy of student nurses, and asked, “Over hand or feather stitch?” as Dr. Vorsick repaired her episiotomy.

This is where my story began.  Since then, looking back, there’s no way I could have predicted nor anticipated the journey from then to now – just as well, I suspect.

All posts are my own, unless I invite someone to share their stories – with the exception, of course, of “Comments”.  All credit where credit is due will be made.

There is only one primary and permanent guideline:  play nice with the other children.  This site/blog is open to all and any comments, opinions, and points of view.  However, if what you write is inflammatory, bigoted, narrow-minded and/or hateful, I will delete it.

That rather unpleasant matter aside, I look forward to telling stories, sharing stories, listening to stories, and learning more as we all journey through this thing called Life.

Welcome!

What say you, please?

~ Jessan